After Tamara left, I turned off the open sign and went over to the couch, throwing myself down on it so hard, small plumes of dust rose from the old piece of furniture. Shabby chic, indeed.

What a heartbreaker.

My eyes were dry, thankfully, but the knot in my throat felt like it had lodged there permanently. A backhoe might move it, but I didn’t know for sure.

How did somebody adjust to something like that?

I couldn’t imagine being a teenager who snuck out for a date, leaving my kid brother alone, thinking everything would be fine, then less than an hour later, coming home to find him missing.

Just gone.

“Stop thinking about it,” I muttered, my voice thick, thanks to the boulder in my throat.

I couldn’t afford to think about it.

I had to think of Tamara as a job. A mark.

I couldn’t think about her as a person, as somebody who’d lost so much already, because if I did, the one chance I had to get Joelle away might slip through my fingers. And I’d risk anything to get my sister away from the kind of life she’d find with Ephraim.

Bile churned in my throat as I forced myself to sit up.

I hadn’t even started, and I already didn’t like the person I was going to be after this. But I’d like myself even less if I waited around and did nothing while my baby sister was forced to marry a man more than twice her age – a cruel man who’d treat her like shit.

Joelle might not even survive it.

God knew my mother hadn’t survived marriage to my father, and while he was petty and vindictive, I didn’t think he was as bad as Ephraim was.

Pressing the tips of my fingers under my eyes, I willed back the headache that pressed in.

The seconds on the clock had spun away quicker than I’d realized, and I had an appointment with a regular coming up in less than ten minutes. She was almost always early, too, so I had to get that door unlocked.

“You can do this,” I told myself.

After all, I really didn’t see that I had much choice.

Maybe I’d get lucky, and some piece of shit would walk through the door this afternoon.

But if not…then I had to start planning out the job on Tamara Robson.

My regular was a bored housewife in her forties who cheated on her husband while he was off cheating on her.

They both knew the other cheated.

They both pretended otherwise.

They both wanted out of the marriage, but neither of them wanted to be the first one to make a move, thanks to a rather tight prenup. I’d figured all of this out within the first two meetings.

She wanted to know if she’d meet a tall, dark stranger who’d take her away from her miserable life.

She asked the same thing every month.

I told her the same thing every month.

Every month, she met a new tall, dark stranger and for a few days, she thought she was happy.

But then she was always back in here a few weeks later.

Part of me was tempted to shake her and tell her to get a grip. Even with the prenup, she’d end up with five hundred thousand dollars. I’d give almost anything to have that kind of money right now, but she’d gotten used to having an unlimited bank account at her disposal.

If only I could figure out a way to bilk her for more than the few hundred she dropped on my table every month. But she was a known client, and that made the thought of doing anything extra with her even more problematic.

“Celeste…” I smiled at her as she let her palms rest in mine. She was more fidgety today than normal. “I can’t help you if you don’t try to clear your mind.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She snapped her gum and then went still, clearly trying to focus. Less than sixty seconds passed before she was back to squirming around again.

Biting back a sigh, I tugged my hands away, and her eyes flew wide. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?” She sounded like a valley girl from some eighties movie gone bad.

“I can’t help you when your mind is so clouded. Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up?” I suggested.

“I…nothing!” She shifted around a little, and even though there was a low table between us, I could see the skirt she wore riding up. “It’s just…never mind. He doesn’t matter, okay? Let’s do this.”

But I didn’t take the fingers she wiggled beseechingly at me.

“I can’t help when you’re so clearly distracted. What is it?” I asked again.

“I…okay, fine. You’re worse than my therapist.” She rolled her eyes. “It was the guy I met last month. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.”

Last month’s TDH – tall, dark and handsome. “What made him so unique?” I asked.

“Are you kidding me?” She blinked, looking shocked that I didn’t know. “He was hung like a horse.” But then a funny smile curled her lips. “And he was…I dunno. Funny. I think I kinda liked him. Not just the sex stuff, but all the stuff. He was…he was funny.”

“Funny enough to see again?” I suggested.

“Hell, no.” She rolled her eyes. “The guy is a mechanic.”

“What’s wrong with being a mechanic?”

“Nothing, if I just need my car fixed. That’s great and all.” She pushed back from the table a little and crossed her legs, started to swing one back and forth. The skirt crept higher. I was going to see butt cheek before too long. “But he’s not…hell, why would I want to get serious about a mechanic?”

“Because he made you laugh?” I suggested. “Because he’s hung like a horse?” I paused a beat, then added, “And because I’ve seen you smile in a way nobody else has ever made you smile in all the time you’ve been coming to see me.”

The swaying leg stilled, and she looked up at me, her gaze naked.

“Honey…” I said in a gentle voice. “This is going to sound terrible coming from me, because I love money more than I love myself.” I crooked a smile at her as I continued, “But there’s more to life than just money. There’s being happy with a guy who can make you laugh, somebody who might want to take care of you and be there for you. Did he seem like that kind of guy?”

Ten minutes later, Celeste was gone.

I didn’t know if she’d be back.

It was the first time I’d ever considered that possibility, and I held in my hand the fattest tip she’d ever given me. Four hundred dollars. I was keeping every damn penny of it. I’d slip an extra twenty into the day’s take and say that was all she’d given me – she was pissed about the advice I’d given her or something.

That would explain why she didn’t return – if she didn’t.

She was also my last client of the day, unless I wanted to wait around for walk-ins. I didn’t, not really, but I wasn’t going to close up shop in case some last-minute unicorn showed up to save Tamara from me.

Pulling out my laptop, I sat down on the couch with my legs crossed and a cup of instant cappuccino steaming next to me. Screw the tea leaves. I’d take a jolt of caffeine and sugar any day of the week.

As I waited for the laptop to boot up, I took a sip of vanilla-flavored instant and sighed. I slid the door a look, but it stayed determinedly shut.

Where were all the rich assholes when you needed them?

Once the Google page loaded, I knew I couldn’t procrastinate any longer, and I began to research. I had a notepad next to me, and as I started to dig around in Tamara’s past, I made notes.

The brother’s disappearance was easy enough to dig up.

A little kid going missing from his bed always made the news. Tamara had unknowingly already given me important clue. I knew his estimated birthday and that he would have been forty-one, so tracking him down was child’s play. I’d always had a mind like a steel trap, and recalling the details she told me, I plugged more and more into the computer until I had a near complete historical background from one Tamara Robson – and her brother, gone too soon, a Philip Robson.

His picture showed a sweet-looking kid with an oddly familiar-looking smile. It didn’t seem to be Tamara’s smile, but pictures could be deceptive, especially those belonging to children. The grainy image didn’t show the color of his eyes, but they seemed to be pale. He would have been a blond if the light-colored curls in the image were anything to go by.

“What happened to you?” I murmured.

I started a search on the boy, but it revealed nothing more than what I expected.

Rewards offered, a few more articles written after his disappearance, and a follow-up on his birthday several years later. Somebody had tried to keep the interest going in the case, but it seemed like the cops had given up hope.

How did somebody give up hope on a little kid? But logically, I knew somehow, it had to happen. Kids disappeared all the time. People disappeared all the time. It just happened.

Feeling depressed, I backed out of the search and started to focus on Tamara.

She was the job, after all.

The possibility of finding anything on her brother wasn’t even a long-shot at this point.

It was an impossibility.

“You’re about to con her out of money. Don’t pretend that trying to find a happy ever after makes much of a difference,” I muttered to myself.

Tamara Robson was apparently a common name. I sighed and backed out of that search, deciding to take a different tactic. I went to a record’s search website. I had a good idea of her date of birth – at least the birth month and year, so I started skimming those records until I found a few that seemed reliable.

I had it narrowed down to a few and noted those DOBs down on my notepad before going back to a general search. Narrowing it down to the Tamara Robsons who lived in LA County, I managed to find her in a just a matter of minutes.

The third date of birth I’d noted was spot on.

The pictures were definitely my Tamara.

And she hadn’t locked down her Facebook profile.

“Oh, honey,” I murmured, feeling a little sad for her. Somebody needed to tell her to get on that quick. I doubted it should be me, because that would let her know I’d be online looking for information on her, but she really shouldn’t be out there with her profile public and for all the world to see.

I was about ready to click away when the pictures caught my eye.

Actually, it was a specific picture.

I clicked on it, dread curling in my gut.

Oh, no.

A familiar face with a familiar smile stared at me from the monitor of my computer. “No, no, no, no. Just…no,” I said, shaking my head. I flexed my hands over the keyboard, resisting the urge to just close the window and pretend I hadn’t seen what I’d seen.

“This isn’t happening,” I whispered. No way in hell. How could it be happening?

Out of the millions of people in LA, was I really about to con somebody I had a connection with?

“No,” I said again, but it was weaker this time.

Weaker, pathetic. After all, that face looking back at mine wasn’t lying.

It was Kian’s.

The man I’d slept with just a few days ago.

The sexy, blue-eyed blond who’d managed to rock my world for a couple of hours.

And according to the comment under the picture? He was Tamara Robson’s son.

Hours later, the money I’d gotten from Celeste tucked away, I lay on my bed, brooding.

I felt split in two.

It was never a good idea to run a con on somebody you had a connection with. That was just common sense.

But at the same time, how likely was he to find out?

He wasn’t.

And, also at the same time, how much of a choice did I have?

I’d heard Papa talking to Joelle earlier, telling her to stop looking so glum. She was going to be a member of one of the most powerful families soon, she should be happy, yes?

I’d wanted to punch him.

And just when was soon?

I had no idea, but he wouldn’t be saying soon if they were planning a long engagement.

It could be next month, it could be next weekend.

Okay, next weekend wasn’t likely, but next month wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. These things tended to happen soon once it was publicly announced.

I didn’t have the luxury of time. I couldn’t afford to look around, hoping another well-off client would fall into my lap.

I had to act now.

I hated what I was going to do, but the plan was already crystalline in my mind. I knew how I could handle Tamara and the connection she needed with her brother. I’d done it before even. It was simple, and sometimes, I could even pretend it was a mercy because nobody went to a psychic looking for closure unless they really needed it.

But it was a lie.

It was all a lie, and I didn’t want to lie to Kian’s mom.

“So, you stay here and let Joelle marry a man who will make her miserable, who might well hurt her. That’s the option,” I muttered under my breath, careful to keep my voice low.

And it was no option at all.

I wasn’t doing it.

So…I was going to have to do the other thing I didn’t want to do.

Closing my eyes, I rolled onto my side. “I’m sorry, Kian.”